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Teen Ink Forums

Any story contest

Any story is welcomed. I would don't really want any poetry. But other than that you can place anything here from non-fiction to fiction. It can already be on TeenInk. You can give me the link or upload it here.
DEADLINE: when I get 15-20 stories
AMOUNT: you can place up to 2 entries
PRIZES: I'll tell you guys later. Surprises are awesome.
If you have questions feel free to ask. ^_^

Cruel laughter.Pain. So much pain.
The rain pours down upon the world, chilling everything it touches to a temperature well below zero, as the Death Angel is paraded through Minsya, home of the long forgotten. The families of spirits that live in the town huddle inside the ancient, rotting homes lining the street to get out of the dreadful weather, though there are enough holes in the roofs that it’s just as damp indoors as out, encouraging the ever present mold and mildew to thrive. The Forest of the Dead reaches towards the sky like clawed skeletal fingers, the limbs of the bare trees weighed down with the Crows Of Judgment, their beady red eyes taking in the decaying scenery. Tears down her face.My blood stained chest.
The Death Angel wears nothing but his molten, blood red chains, that hiss and crackle as the freezing rain touches the heated metal. His body is covered in filth and his huge, black wings are missing feathers in large patches, showing splotches of skin that look as if they belong on a corpse. He walks slowly, his head bowed in lost hope and pain, as his guards of bone lead him through the city square to the Hall of Discarded Dreams. Relic of such dreams lay scattered throughout the forsaken town; broken toys, college diplomas, ripped and charred, pictures of happy times, defiled with crude drawings and scribbles. The Angel Court will judge him here for his crimes.
As the doomed angelic being climbs up the steps of the crumbling Greek-style building, he freezes in place and lifts his head to the sky, howling like a rabid wolf, his beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with his wounded heart. His guards snap around and surge onto him. Within seconds, the lost angel is on his scuffed knees, silent, his wings spread out behind him like beautiful black fire. The guards grip his wings tightly, pulling harshly to keep him in line. A small whimper escapes his scratched throat. Darkness.Can hear screaming.
With a final sharp tug of the Death Angel’s wing, a guard ensures his compliance and forces his unwilling captive to stand. One by one, the guards let go of his feathered limbs and resume their positions around the dirty angel boy. As the disconsolate creature and his captors reach the huge, rusted double iron doors, they swing open to reveal a massive hall lined with ghostly figured soldiers. The soldiers remain motionless like they are made of grey, translucent stone. Cracking balconies ring the great hall and the room is topped with a dull copper dome. The Angel Court is nowhere to be seen, though their nearing presence is tangible in the air.
In the middle of the room are short chains attached to tarnished silver cuffs carved with thousands of tiny runes. The group walks towards them and the angel is yet again forced to his knees. The lead skeleton guard clamps the cuffs around his wrists and releases the red chains with a guttural moan. They fall to the floor and sink through the spider-webbed marble. He then takes a place among the rest of the guards in line behind the Death Angel. Knife in chest.Hurts, but going numb.
Without warning, the room shudders and groans. A blinding flash fills the room and dust and debris rains down from the ceiling as a loud crack echoes throughout. When the dust clears, the Angel Court stands on the second level balcony on the far wall, opposite the doors. Arms around me.Ripped away.
Three rows of high ranking angelic beings with wings tucked loosely into their backs speak with one booming voice, “ Alex Michelson, You have been brought before the Angel Court to be Judged. The crimes of which you have been accused are here by the following:
Consorting with a mortal without orders, 2nd Degree
Disobeying direct orders involving said mortal, 1st Degree
And finally, by far the most severe under this section of Angel Law, you have been accused of falling,” the voice says the last word disgustedly, ”for the mortal. 4th Degree!”
At the mere mention of the mortal, the accused angel’s eyes light up, and continue to grow brighter with each accusation. The Angel Court continues, “As such, we will try you based on your memories. If you reject the mental search, we will have no choice but to believe the accusations, and to punish you accordingly. Will you accept the mind search as a chance to redeem yourself, or the punishment of the rightly accused?” So alone.So cold.
The angel in chains growls and spits in the direction of the Court. In a hoarse voice he calls out, “I have done no wrong by falling for the mortal! So, as to your mind invasion, I say kiss my-“
“Noted,” The voice calls out over the profane word, “You, before the Angel Court, have admitted to the accusations. Therefore, you are to receive the consequences of your crimes. The Angel Court has pre-decided your fate, if your faults were to be proven.
Alex Michelson, 1st rank Death Angel, you are hereby sentenced to an eternity as a Phoenix, as well as the mortal you are so taken with. This is final. Court adjourned.” Silence.Darkness.Nothing.
With that final phrase, there is a blinding light and the Court is gone. The angel is left sobbing, alone with his guards once more.

This is from a longer story that I've been working on for the past three years now...

Silverface paced in circles around her and Mafu’s clearing, memories swimming like cobalt blue fish across her eyes. They were painful memories, lousy ones, but at least they were familiar. As much as she wanted others to forget the road that life had taken her down, she did not want to forget it herself.
The threatening voice startled her, rising from a sea of chaos and puzzles that she had surrounded herself in like a moat around a castle. “So the great warrior returns at last, from the depths of her own despair and guilt.”

“Guilt is such a strong word,” Silverface murmured under her breath.

“I loved you, you know.”

“And I loved Mafu.”

“Ah,” he paused. “But to love such an enemy is forbidden. But I am sure that the general would love to meet your newborn daughter.”

“Rhea is safe now. There is nothing you or the general can do to harm her.”

“That does not erase your crimes. I am perfectly capable of revealing your offense to the general.”

Silverface did not turn around, instead responding icily, as if to herself, “I would never have my life any other way.”
“But your life is no more. Death encases you like the shadows of night closing around a raven cloaked in ebony.” Her rival then began the words of an age old speech by a warrior before he killed his traitorous friend, a story of prominent legend and lore, which she continued eloquently to her enemy’s great surprise.
“Never again will you hear the wind blow. Never again will you see the river flow.” As she spoke the final line, her eyes cleared of haze to their cold, deep, blue, and her voice cracked and hardened until it was only a harsh whisper, hissed through clenched teeth. “For the next time you draw your sword, it will be from your throat.” And on that fateful night, the old tale from which their words were thieved repeated itself flawlessly.

The beast moaned, its hot breath seeming to singe the air. The smell of smoke and metal filled the night. The dragon was still, its fervid, blazing eyes staring into the darkness, pondering something.
It was a beautiful creature; its skin was like stained glass, lit by the internal Heat that burned with such fervor. If you looked hard, you could make out its skeleton, surrounded by fire. It was as if the whole dragon were made of liquid, pulsing flame. Its wings were like blankets of sparks, its tail like the trails of so many fireworks. And the most striking thing about it?

It looked sad.

The deep look of melancholy lingered in its eyes, a misunderstood, hopelessly sad stare, as if it were looking for something it could never find. With a mighty sigh, a dragon’s tear dropped on the ground, a tear of fire. The flame seeped into the ground, spreading into the grass, the rocks, the trees, and finally into the sky. The landscape swirled with that hypnotizing, destructive yellow glow, shifting and twirling in a sparkling inferno of light.
The dragon looked up into the stars and roared. The roar, although a guttural, deep and churning sound, was sweet. Like the call of a whale or the trumpet of the elephant, the roar echoed into the darkness, calling out to someone, anyone.

But no one heard.

It was alone, hopelessly alone. There was no response, no second cry. The dragon was forsaken, a single creature in a world lit by his own fire. A majestic, dazzling monster.